Gripping
When I was an alcoholic, I had a favourite haunt. It was vey dark, very loud and quite cheap - perfect for a boozehound.

Whilst there a yacht of a girl took a shine to my drunken stumbling about, grabbed me by the Geoff and physically dragged me back to her hole several streets away. My last memory of the dive that night was my mate waving at me whilst laughing in my face.

She was huge. I was pissed and scared. After a considerable amount of effort on her massive frame, I sober up enough to spot her herpes spots and broken teeth. I manage to squeal "fuck this, I'm off" and scarper with my clothes under arm. Life has never been the same since.

[it was either this story or the one with the quadraplegic and the romantic, four hour, waddle back to hers]
( timothycrippins, Fri 15 Jun 2007, 14:43, Reply)